Saligia
by Sherlock Draco Janeway
Summary: Sherlock is back in the game and hoping for everything to be as it was before the fall. But times have changed and the world's only consulting Detective will need his friends, old and new ones, to solve a case that does not only shake the very basics of British society but could also destroy Sherlock Holmes forever.


Kathryn Wallace did not believe in religion. She had been dragged to go to church since her early childhood, but she had never experienced the warm, welcoming feeling of total devotion her parents could not stop talking about. She had attended services and read books and really put an effort into becoming close to God, but it was no good, she was unable to accept divinity and the concepts it brought with it. She knew that there was no scientific proof for Jesus's resurrection and she had always felt the urge to patronise people who believed they lived in haunted houses. But then again, she also ever believed she would witness a resurrection.

John Watson strolled along Oxford Street. He normally hated the busy shopping mile that was always crammed with people who looked too happy and too cheerful, but he had heard from a friend that there was no place to shop for rings like Ernest Jones's. He arrived at the house and sighed loudly. The prices were not only despicably high, but they also reminded him that to make the money to buy such a ring for Mary, he would have to work for another three days in his medical office. John Watson was a passionate doctor who would do anything to save a patient's life, but he was also someone who had tasted the excitement of crime solving and as much as he tried to go back to the oath he had taken and the work he vowed to do, he longed to be excited again. He sighed for a second time and let his hand run through his hair and then brush his moustache. It was no use. He turned around and walked back towards the tube station that would take him to his office. He really wished he would not have to go back there, ever again.

Sherlock Holmes was bored. That was not anything new, since there were very few things that could make Sherlock forget his boredom, but he felt that this time, we would not be able to go back to work and solve cases. At least not that easily. There were people who would be dramatic. Sherlock frowned slightly when he thought about how John would react. Probably not happy. He had always been overly emotional, which Sherlock thought to be puzzling, considering his army past. He closed his hands and placed them in front of his chin, thinking. He knew that he had to return – Mycroft had been very specific indeed when he had thrown him a new suit and a sly comment about him always making trouble. But he did not know how. He would have to confide in someone other than John first. He had seen the doctor at his fake grave and it had deeply moved him in a way only few things could. John had behaved in this moment like someone Sherlock never thought he would have, like a friend. Of course, he was opposed to the whole caring parameter, but had to admit that he did not intend to hurt John like this ever again. He went through a list of names in his head. There were not awfully many people he knew and trusted. Mrs Hudson seemed an obvious choice, but her heart was weak and she was never the person Sherlock confined in for help. Lestrade briefly crossed his mind, but Sherlock was too often irritated by him to really believe this to be a great idea. Molly Hooper knew of his still breathing and she had always been too busy being awkward and embarrassed to really be a person one could talk to. This left one person, a woman Sherlock had not seen for a while. He was not very happy about her being his only option, but on the other hand, she had been something like John to him when they had first met, and she was intelligent enough to not faint.

Kathryn stared at her computer and slowly shook her head. This was impossible. On the screen were the scan results of a patient she had treated for almost a decade now. She had barely graduated university when Thomas was brought to hospital, then aged 3. His heart had always been too weak to function properly and Kathryn wanted to cry when she thought about the amount of bypasses she had put into the tiny body. But Thomas had survived, miraculously, and his newest scans showed that all scars had healed and his heart worked almost as well as a normal boy's in his age. She got up to get herself a glass of water – she felt that she was coming down with the flu, her throat had been scratchy for almost three days now – but when she opened her room's door to walk to the kitchen it went infinitely dryer. There stood, resurrected from the dead, Sherlock Holmes.

'Mary? Mary, where are you?' John had just come home, carrying a bag full of groceries and a ring in his pocket. His girlfriend should have come home a while ago, she was writing a thesis so she usually only worked half days. He heard the sound of a chair being moved above him and Mary shouting 'I'm in the kitchen, cooking' from upstairs. He chuckled. Mary was a wonderful person, but cooking really was not what he would call a strength of hers. He slowly walked upstairs, carrying the bag to placed its contents in the fridge, but when he entered the kitchen he saw that he would first have to assist in an emergency fire situation. Mary had managed to make the soup boil over and the oven had let the food explode. The chair she must have been sitting on waiting for the food to cook had fallen over and was not lying dangerously close to the oven, ready to catch fire. John hurried towards the stove, turned the heat down, burned himself with hot soup, swore very un-gentlemanlike, and then concluded by turning the oven down, taking the chair out of danger and smiling at Mary. 'How was your day?' Mary blushed but looked defiantly. 'Well, could have been better, could have been worse. This kitchen stuff is bloody awful. Remind me again why I sold my flat?' John grinned. 'Because you love me and want to live with me.' Mary looked very doubtful of that, but noticing that John was carrying a bag full of Chinese takeout in the hand not preoccupied by groceries her facial expression became friendlier and almost grateful. She ignored the fact that John had predicted her failing in the kitchen and proceeded to lay the table, careful not to push over the candle. Today really was not her day.

'Sherlock Holmes. I was wondering how long it would take you to walk through my door.' Sherlock ignored Kathryn's obvious irony and led himself into the apartment. It was not very big, he noted, which was surprising considering Kathryn was a well-respected surgeon who made a small fortune and could afford more. He looked through a door and saw a huge pile of books next to maps of Africa and South East Asia. Ah, he thought to himself, donations or Doctors Without Borders. A quick glance onto her appearance made the latter seem unlikely. No scars or anything that spoke of hard, staining work in the last six months. He cleared his throat and noticed Kathryn watching him bemused. Her green eyes were smaller than usual, probably a long night shift or something like that. He looked at her sternly. 'How did you know I was still alive?' The woman chuckled and walked through the door into her small kitchen, taking out a mug from the cupboard while examining the shelf for decent tea. 'I am a friend of Molly Hooper's. She was not exactly hard to read.' Sherlock sighed silently. Of course. He should have thought about it. When he had made Molly promise to keep his secret safe, he had been sure he had understood that if she did not, the three people that mattered most to her – and potentially Greg Lestrade as well – would be in mortal danger. But he had of course forgotten Kathryn, studious, unnerved Kathryn. Never had he thought that the star of cardiac surgery and the more than plain Molly Hooper would be even acquainted with one another. He slowly shook his head, more about himself than the whole situation but a screech made him open his eyes again. Something a normal person would probably have called a pet and a prudent person would have called a beast came running down the corridor, aiming directly for him. He managed to jump to the side, causing the ginger cat to run right into a cupboard, but he knew that he must have looked far from elegant and a loud giggle from Kathryn confirmed this. He looked at her, annoyed now. His dark eyes were cold as ever, but Kathryn knew him well enough to see some tiredness in them, too. She slowly cracked a smile, which immediately disappeared after she heard him wince when he tried to get back to a pre-jump position. Her long legs quickly carried her towards him and she was examining his back before he could make a remark snide enough for her to back away. Her gentle, yet professional fingers traced the scars that he had suffered in a prison too many, and she looked at him in full doctor mode when she told him that he either needed cleaning, healing oil and a good nights sleep or would forever loose the ability to do anything but blink his left eye. Sherlock closed said eye and rolled it under the lid, but gave in to Kathryn's request. Before he knew it, he was stripped of his shirt, lying on his stomach, being massaged by something that was both stinging and healing. He fall asleep before Kathryn reached the lowest wound.

Kathryn's face was soft, gentle, more relaxed than usual, and definitely younger in her sleep. Sherlock had woken up from his long slumber mid afternoon and had realised in a horror that he had slept almost 20 hours. He had found the apartment quiet, but not empty: Kathryn was sleeping on the couch, her ginger beast from hell on her lap, sound asleep and covered by little but a blanket. Sherlock had realised with a pang of Etonian gentlemen ship that he had slept on her bed. He was not happy about this, not because he had been an inconvenience, but because he disliked others' personal space. She must have been on duty last night, her coat and shoes in a corner combined with no smell of food or shower activity hinted that she had dropped right into bed. He knew that a few hours in the hospital would not cause her to black out like this, especially if she had slept the night before, so he could safely assume that she had been working rather than sleeping until recently. Sherlock turned around to use the shower, but movement from the couch made him stop and turn around. She had woken up, her hair in a messy braid, her eyes still as tired as they had been on the previous day. She looked at Sherlock confused, as if trying to find out why a dead person was here, in only his trousers and shoes, and on the way to the shower. Sherlock was almost amused to see that she could not stop herself from quickly checking whether she was wearing sufficient clothing before asking what the time was. Since Sherlock had not bothered checking, he walked over to the oven and read 2:38 pm. Kathryn just nodded and wanted to go back to sleep, but stopped halfway and looked at him, her eyes narrowed, scanning him. Sherlock could not help but sigh loudly; overly intelligent Kathryn had been too bored when studying medicine and had taken on a second field, psychology, which she had mastered just as well as surgery. Even he had to respect her for her ability to detect lies and sometimes virtually reading another person's mind. 'You are going to visit John, aren't you?' Sherlock knew that a well planned shake of his head would have a similar success as dancing the word 'no', but he also did not want to nod, since he was not exclusively going to see John – this new girlfriend of his was going to be there undoubtedly. So he reacted by not reacting at all and saw Kathryn frowning just a little. 'You do realise he is going to punch you, right? And do not dare to think I will in any way protect you… quite the opposite will be the case. Not to mention Mrs Hudson… The poor lady will get a heart attack and land in my OR, for God's sake! And I really find no pleasure in simple bypasses.' Sherlock was not really sure what he was supposed to do now. He made an awkward move towards the door but was ready to turn around immediately, should Kathryn give hint that this would be wise or required. But the doctor did not say anything, which encouraged Sherlock to open the door, walk through, and make sure to close it softly, since Kathryn was asleep again already.


End file.
